Interim Report on Seasickness

As you know, I have been somewhat inner-ear-challenged on this trip.  Stylish and Indy have had the occasional issue, but I am a consistent mal de mer girl.  So although I have lots of fun when we arrive places, I’m afraid the getting-there isn’t all it could be.

Here is what I’ve tried so far.

1.  Dramamine, aka Gravol

Seasickness fighting power: 2/10

Adverse effects: 9/10

This stuff was plain terrible.  It robbed me of all intelligent thought, while leaving me in full possession of my blinding headaches and stomach upset.  The day I made the mistake of taking a full pill, Erik was unable to wake me for almost half an hour.  I fell asleep sitting up, for crying out loud.  So if you like to feel like your brains have been sucked out of your head and replaced with cotton wool, while simulataneously having all of your sinus cavities threaten to explode, this is the drug for you.

Hermes understands what I'm going through.

2.  Scopolamine patch

Seasickness fighting power: 8.5/10

Adverse effects: 7/10

Oh, scopolamine.  The patch was brilliant to start with.  I used it on the three-day passage from Key West to Isla Mujeres, and, for once, was in fighting shape  the whole way.  But then the itchiness under the patch started.  I developed an allergic reaction to either the drug or whatever they use to cross the skin barrier.  By the time we hit Isla and I took it off, I had a fiery red welt behind my ear that took weeks to heal.  An itchy patch I can deal with, but the patient information sheet carried dire warnings about allergic reactions leading to respiratory shutdown, and I’m less cool with that.   So, I’ll use this again in a pinch, but it obviously doesn’t like me, more’s the pity.

3.  Stugeron

Seasickness fighting power: 2/10

Adverse effects: 2/10

This was the holy grail of seasickness meds.  Everyone told me how great it was.  Banned in the US, it was bound to be good, right?  No.  It did nothing.  Nothing!

Like Radioactive Man, I'm a little disappointed.

It was like going out with your dream date, only to discover he is a dumb as a stick, secretly wears a hairpiece and still lives in his mother’s basement.  Truly, I was heartbroken. 

5.  Pressure point bracelets

Seasickness fighting power: 0/10

Adverse effects: 0/10

I think I spent too long in the sciences to have the faith required for this kind of remedy.  Enough said.

4.  Nothing + a nap

Seasickness fighting power: 3/10

Adverse effects: 0/10

Let’s face facts, boys and girls.  I’m pretty useless the first day out.  I can follow basic instructions, but my higher cognitive abilities shut down under the weight of my misery.  So, I might as well be asleep, right?  I can help with watches, ie/ make sure we don’t hit other boats and we stay on course.  I retain that level of smartitude.  And being drug-free, I am marginally more intelligent than on the stuff listed above (and, I have it on good authority, somewhat less crabby).  When it is Erik’s turn to keep watch, I sleep in the cockpit.  As long as I don’t venture into the dreaded Belowdecks, I can feel human for up to an hour after waking.  Pretty good, right?  Well, better than nothing.

This is where I call for help.  People.  This is your chance to shine!  You are smart and worldly.  You travel places.  You know someone with motion sickness.  And you have access to all the wonders of the intrawebs, which I lack via my trusty ham radio.  So help me out here.  I am ready to be a one-woman testing ground for any and all remedies, no matter how dubious!  I’m down to ginger tea on my list of Things People Swear Will Work.  Send me your magical answers.  Pretty please.  Be my hero!

Even Wonder Woman suffers during takeoff and descent.

Rodent vs Insect

In my youth, I wasn’t very fond of spiders.  Alright, I was kind of scared of them.  This wasn’t helped by the fact that our house backed onto a ravine, and every once in a while a spider the size of the Loch Ness monster would scuttle across my bedroom floor.  In general, I could manage if they were a) outside the house, and b) couldn’t contact me in any way, but if they violated either of those terms, their creepy little lives were forfeit. 

Once I had Stylish, I tried very hard to get over my spider issues.  When we encountered bugs and spiders, I would take a steadying breath, then we would examine them and talk about how interesting they were.  Eventually, my feigned non-revulsion became real.  And once we moved aboard, I was quite happy for any spiders I saw, because I knew they were keeping the bug population down.  As for the bugs themselves, pfft.  Bugs.  Big deal.

And then, it happened.

A giant cockroach.

We call them palmettos, because it sounds better, but the fact of the matter is that when two inches of dark brown buggy horror runs across the bathroom, you wish you were holding an elephant gun.  Truth be told, I jump on a chair and squeal like a cartoon housewife from the fifties who spotted a mouse.  Every time.  Erik always has to kill the damn thing, and he's getting pretty disgusted at my totally irrational reaction.  I'm trying, but so far I'm failing.  When I turn around of an evening to see those long, long antennae wiggling out from behind something, rational thought deserts me.

Sightings are rare, so we know we aren’t infested.  We seem to specialize in bringing home orphans – hiding in corrugated cardboard, hitchhiking out of the hot and humid laundry room.  We are are careful as we can be, but somehow, once in a while, they still show up.  I have Boraxed the heck out of this boat, so I know not much will survive.  Certainly not for long.  They can’t hurt me; they are just gross.  And yet, and yet...

A couple of weeks ago, we actually spotted two in one night (instead of about one every month), and Erik and I were worried.  Out came the special poisons and traps.  No way do we want to haul this boat out of the water to fumigate it.  But then a strange thing happened.

The next morning, Erik found palmetto parts strewn around the back deck.  He speculated that a bat had caught one, and we joked about building a bat house on the mizzen.  A few days later, I found some palmetto legs under the stove as I was cleaning.  And then I found mouse poops in the cupboard.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall and wondered why we had stayed in a marina.  You’re just asking for critters to run up the lines.  And here was a mouse.  A mouse to eat our food, chew the lines, chew the upholstery, chew the hoses and maybe even sink the boat.

Mice don't bother me.  At all.  I spent too long in a lab to be afraid of mice.  But I still don't want them here, so we bought sticky traps, warfarin, snap traps and a live trap.  No way was Mr Mousie going to stay on Papillon, and we sure weren't going to give it a chance to breed.

Because the food is packed in hard plastic (yes, all of it). Mr Mousie had no luck in the pantry.

Animal proof

I found he was going on deck at night to chew through the full garbage bags.  I baited the live trap with ham and peanut butter and tucked it in beside the garbage bag.  Then, off to bed.

In the night, I thought I heard the trap snap shut, and accompanying shrieking and clanging.  But it was a windy night and the sounds disappeared quickly, so I was afraid to hope.

In the morning, I crept on deck like a child afraid Santa hasn’t come.  I tiptoed through the cockpit, and saw the trap door was closed!  Oh happy day!  I traipsed to the back deck to give Mr Mousie a good scolding.

I found a big.  Stinking.  Rat.

Too big, too big!

Just call me Samuel Whiskers.

Holy cats!  He was HUGE!  Look at how he filled that trap!  Jesus H., how did that thing move around the boat undetected?  Mr Mousie, indeed.  No wonder the palmettos disappeared – Ratty ate them all, and probably in one gulp!  We’re lucky he didn’t eat us, too!

I hopped around in ataxtic terror for a few moments, then fled.  But this time, I helped Erik commit the murder.  Like I said, even big rodents aren't as scary as palmettos.  Don't ask me why.

Well.  Ratty is gone.  The palmettos are gone.  And any and all spiders are welcome, welcome, welcome.  No questions asked.

Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome!

Guatemala Roundup

If all goes well, we should be departing Guatemala for Honduras at this time this post appears.  This is a tricky undertaking; we can only leave the Rio Dulce during the full moon high tide, because the mouth of the river spots a nasty shallow muddy bar, and we draw 6.5 feet.  So we have a short window of a few days each month when we can leave, weather permitting.  As hurricane season will only grow worse, we'll either leave this week, or not until the fall.

But let's assume that all has gone well and we are out at sea.  What did we do in Guatemala?

We climbed some Mayan temples:

I'm the queen of the castle

 Toured the rainforest canopy:

Tether mandatory.

You mean, I shouldn't jump down there?

 Played croquet on the fourth of July:

Even Indy is a princess sometimes.

 Lit confusingly-labelled sparklers:

Electric how, exactly?

 With predicable results:

Ow.  Stylish has an unfashionable hole in her foot.

 We lazed around some:

Sharing a hammock as only sisters can

 Ate some apples:

Yum.

 Enjoyed a waterfall with hotsprings:

Look!  Even Mom is there!

 And just generally admired the view.

Ahhh.

And that, my friends, is Guatemala.

Here Be Dragons

Here were are in the Rio Dulce.  We've had a nice time in El Golfete, but it is time to visit town and reprovision.  Let's sail on to Fronteras.

First, we turn on the GPS.

Don't fall off!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh.  Well.  Our boat appears to be on land, which is a little worrisome.  And the world sort of ends there, doesn't it.  I guess those special Caribbean charts we bought weren't all they were cracked up to be.

No matter.  We still have our fancy computer navigation software.  First, let's take a look at google maps to see where we are going.

I know where Guatemala is!

Excellent.  Top right arrow to bottom left arrow.  Got it.  Let's open Coastal Explorer.

I can haz map?

And... oh.  No.  So, hmm.  It looks like we have to cross the Universal Transverse Mercator Grid, cut the corner of the Caution: Inadequately Surveyed Areas box, then emerge back onto the overly-zoomed river near the "M" in Guatemala.  Brilliant.

It may seem that we could get from one place on the river to another just by, you know, pointing the boat the right way, but as in all things, it isn't that easy.  Shoals and submerged pilings are our deadly enemies.  Luckily, our guidebook gave two GPS coordinates to navigate by; without those, we might have been in trouble.

And, just for comparison's sake, here is the map of Key West we used back in the day (at higher magnification, I might add):

Look at me!  I'm well-defined!

See all those little numbers?  Those are depths.  Go back and note the total absence of depth numbers on the Guatemala chart.  And when we get closer?

Any closer and you could see individual houses.

Buoys, depths, even buildings.  Is this all a plot to remind us how easy everything is back in civilization?  A vast conspiracy to make us run for home?  Oh, what dark days are these?

Getting Sick in Exotic Places

>>>Now new and improved with photos!<<<

While much of our gadding about on Papillon may seem like a long vacation, it should be remembered that this is our everyday life now.  And in everyday life, things happen.  Colds, car accidents, lost post; all of the things you experience at home, but in a prettier locale.

We came to Guatemala with almost the sole object of visiting Tikal.  Although it meant giving ourselves a tougher sailing plan afterwards to get down to Cartagena, we decided it was worth it.  This was, in the main, because Erik is a ruin junkie.  To put it in terms of the SATs, as my father is to historical plaques, so Erik is to ruins.  He cannot resist the remains of any ancient civilization.  When we lived in Germany, we were unfortunate enough to live near the edge of ancient Roman expansion, a line called the Limes (Lee-mess).  At one time, it was a miles-long wall probably four or five meters high, defended by a trench filled with pointy sticks and some highly unhappy and soggy soldiers.  By the time we strolled around, it was a small lumpy track through the forest.  Nonetheless, all visitors to our home were treated to a tour of the mighty Limes, complete with Erik’s dramatic retelling of Olden Tymes Gone Bye.

So Tikal, packed with huge temples, carvings and artifacts, was really a foregone conclusion, never mind that it was a) hundreds of miles inland, and b) totally out of our way.

We packed up the girls, took a boat into town, a long and crowded bus ride north, a further long and less crowded taxi ride, and we reached Tikal National Park by late afternoon.  We settled in, and decided to take a brief walk out to Complex Q before the park closed for the day.  Erik had arranged a guided tour for 6:30 the next morning (yes, really), so we just wanted to get a small taste of the place.  Tikal has hundreds of buildings – most of them still buried in the rainforest – over many square kilometers, so we knew we would have to pick and choose what we would be able to see.  Excited by this small taste of the complex, we set the alarm, went to bed early, and dreamed of the busy day waiting tomorrow.

I woke up perhaps an hour or two later to the sounds of Bad Things Happening in the bathroom.  The girls were still in bed.  Erik was not.

Erik was up the entire night with whatever flu had grabbed him.  It wasn’t pretty.  Before we left for our tour, I bought him a couple of Gatorades from the hotel shop, wished him well, and took the girls out for our 10 km hike.  Even in his reduced state, he was devastated that he would miss Tikal.

The girls and I had a wonderful time.  Stylish walked the whole way, and Indy did a very good job too, considering her tender age.  We heard about the Mayans, climbed temples, looked out over the rainforest, saw spyder monkeys, toucans, grey foxes, pacas, and birds of all sorts.  It was a wonderful morning.

And, as things turned out, Erik got his tour.  We stayed an extra day, and all did the tour again the next morning.  [One thing I will say about Guatemala, the people here are incredibly nice.  Our guide was very cool about Erik switching days, and the girls and me tagging along for round two.  That is typical of our experiences here.]  My counterpart may have been a little grey around the edges, but he saw Tikal, dammit!  And it was awesome.

Indiana Jones explores her roots

Checking out the rainforest from the top of Temple IV

Temple III in the distance

Local inhabitants

I'm here, I made it!

The flu is now making its way through the family.  I had my turn during our night in Flores on the way home and Indy succumbed this morning.  Stylish has been fighting the onset for days now by the simple expedient of not consuming anything, and therefore having nothing to expel.  (At least I don’t need to cook for this crew; plain buns are all anyone wants to eat at the moment.)

And we all agree that, sick or no, Tikal was worth it.

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, Where Does Your Power Go?

I miss cheese.

Back in the days of land-livin', we were quite the dairy consumers. Milk at lunch and dinner, and cheese whenever, the sharper the better. Erik and I spent many an anniversary sharing Roquefort on Melba toast, accompanied by a cold Sauterne. I slowly increased our household Cheddar sharpness until Stylish was quite happy to consume old cheddar that smelled like gym socks. And I was a sucker for anything on sale on the store that was green-veined and looked like it might bite back.

Alas, our cheese days are behind us now. In the first place, it is unavailable here. Mexico offered only the blandest cheese-approximate substances, which were good for making quesadillas and not much else. Guatemala hasn't even got that. And so I make my sad face, and strike grilled-cheese off my list of lunches.

In the second place, even if I could find stinky cheese, I couldn't necessarily keep it cold.

Now. I am sure that you at home have never had cause to question the energy requirements of your fridge. At most, maybe you bought a new appliance, looked at the yellow energystar tag that came with it, congratulated yourself on being a responsible consumer, and instantly forgot the experience.

My friends, I was once like you! No longer. As we have moved into hotter and hotter weather, our fridge has struggled to keep up. Which means it runs more often. Which means the 12 V batteries run down. Which means we have to run the generator more often. Which means we are burning diesel just to keep our mayonnaise cold. Not good, not good.

We lucked into finding a boat refrigeration expert here in the Rio Dulce. He looked over the system, and gave us the sad verdict that our system is fine; we are simply under-insulated. This is bad news because it means we don't have an easy fix for our power-guzzling fridge. We have to rip the whole thing out and start again.

Once again; at home, no problem. Unplug old fridge. Wheel out old fridge. Recycle responsibly. Wheel in new fridge. Plug in. Smile happy smile. For us, our top-loading fridge and freezer are built right into the kitchen counter. We'll have to gently remove the teak counters that cover the lid, somehow pull the massive stainless-steel liner that form the body, rip out the likely-saturated insulation beneath, put in new insulation 3-4 inches thick, build a new liner to fit the new space, possibly in situ, and put it all back together again.

Does that sound fun and mess-free? No, I didn't think so. We've decided to put the job off until we reach Cartagena, but we can't push it much beyond that. I am not looking forward to Erik ripping up the kitchen, blocking the stove and the microwave, so that not only won't we have any means of keeping things cold, aside from a cooler and a block of ice, but I also won't be able to cook anything we do have. It sounds like ten days of peanut butter sandwiches to me.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

No Time to Talk

The internet is being briefly cooperative.  Photos!

Barracuda: catch and release

Free-diving Stylish

A brief rest between repairs

Bumming around Long Cay

Luck, Be a Lady Tonight

We are currently moored by Glovers Reef in Belize. Tomorrow, we will go diving/snorkelling to look for whale sharks.

The internet remains elusive, my friends, so I'll try to edit my wordy self. I've been successfully sending and receiving email via the SSB (hurrah to the ham radio stations in Daytona, San Diego and Lunenberg!), but we have to keep it brief. Also, that is a separate account, so trying to get things through via my regular email takes a while. Alas. My brief survey of the internet today, during the three minutes I had connectivity via the dive operation here, show me I haven't missed anything earth-shattering in the past week. Take that as you will. This blog post will also go out by SSB, so if the formatting comes out odd, my apologies.

Today I will tell you a fable, with a suitable moral at the end. A few of weeks ago, back in Isla Mujeres, we helped to tow a catamaran with a dead engine back to the dock. This involved three dinghys - one behind, one on each side - tied to the cat and gently nudging it along. This operation proved too much for our little outboard, which suddenly lost power on the way home. Some research and a visit to The Propeller Man in Puerto Juarez revealed that we had "spun the hub on the prop", ie. the rubber doohickey that sits between the propeller and the drive shaft got creamed. (I'm going to hear about it if that explanation was wrong, but I'm pretty sure I have my facts straight.) Anyway. We went to see Propeller Man, which was worth the broken prop. He lived in a stuccoed house guarded by very loud dogs and had a nasty-looking gate in the front of his house. The interior of the house was 98% propeller, from big ones as tall as I am to little ones that looked like they belonged in a child's toy. Seriously. He opened the front door, but the interior was all garage, propellers, and the odd dog.

Erik had our propeller fixed and bought a second one Propeller Man had lying around, just in case. We made sad faces at spending the money, but what can you do? Being without a dinghy is like being without a car, but worse, because you can't even walk into town or wherever; you would have to swim.

Fast forward to a few days ago at Lighthouse reef. We toodled around Long Cay, played on the beach, then headed back to Papillon.

Bam!

We ran into a tongue of reef not marked on our chart.

And spun the prop.

Now, if we hadn't already had an issue in Isla, we wouldn't have known what precisely the issue was, and we certainly wouldn't have had a spare aboard. We would have been on an outer island in Belize, far from any town, with no outboard motor. So, in fact, it was lucky we'd helped our friends tow their cat that day and had wrecked our propeller in the process.

The moral of the story is: sometimes good luck can masquerade as bad.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com

Spring Roundup, or, What Are You People Doing Out There?

A brief glance over my recent posts highlights a deficiency: I’ve given you, dear reader, precious little information about what we are currently doing on Papillon.  Not that I was ever very forthcoming on that score, but I think a brief overview is in order.

We have been in Mexico at Isla Mujeres for almost two months now.  That is a very long time, and certainly our record. 

Midway through, we took a trip to see friends, taking us through Villahermosa and Mexico City.  We ate pain chocolat, and lived a civilized life.

Mmm!  Breakfast chocolate!

We did land-type things: attended birthday parties, bounced on trampolines, participated in fashion shows.  You know - kids' stuff.

You try and give me princess makeup, I'm gonna break your face.

Runway model Stylish

And here we now are, all back onboard.  Erik is back to fixing water makers and outboard engines.  I’m back to... well, doing what I was doing, but with another adult onboard.  The girls are delighted to have Daddy back, although Indy has made him pay for it.  While he was away, she would try to talk to him via the VHF: “Daddy, stop working and come home, okay Daddy?”, but once he was back for good, she gave him the cold shoulder to show just how mad she was that he left.  Stylish has a longer memory of Daddy as a Working Man; although she was very sad when he went away, experience told her he was coming back.

Apropos of nothing, here is a video I took of flying dancers outside the Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City (not to be missed, people).  Watch carefully, the flute player and drummer are spinning, too!

We were at the museum to do some research on the Maya before visiting Tulum (cool) and Coba (so much cooler).  Tikal will come later.  Because living on the boat is all about field trips!  Here is Stylish booting up a pyramid at Coba like a super-fit mountain goat.

Run, Stylish, run!

As I write, we are preparing to head south to Belize.  Yes, it is time to set sail once again.  I am armed with some fancy new seasickness medication, banned in the US, which I’m hoping will finally kick my headaches to the curb.  Hooray!  This also means that we are losing our internet connection.  But, fear not, we will still have very brief text-based email via the ham radio.  I may send the odd blog post out into the ether that way, but the photos will have to wait.  In any case, I am still glad to get your questions and comments; I makes me feel less like I am writing to myself.

Until we meet again, dear reader!